


Make it Real

by poselikeateam



Series: Incubus Jaskier AUs [10]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Succubi & Incubi, Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Domestic Fluff, Emotionally Competent Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Getting Together, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Incubus Jaskier | Dandelion, Insecure Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Insecure Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier is adopted, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Meet the Family, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, POV Jaskier | Dandelion, Pre-Relationship, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, References to the Mountain Goats, Succubi & Incubi, Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:34:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26088754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poselikeateam/pseuds/poselikeateam
Summary: Jaskier decides to spend his winter in a nice little coastal town. He's expecting to find some beds to warm, some inspiration, definitely some rest and relaxation. What he's not expecting is to find friendship, a new family, or a chance at immortality. After all, people never actuallywanthim to stick around.Well, apparently notnever.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Incubus Jaskier AUs [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1778233
Comments: 91
Kudos: 579





	1. Cut a Good Figure (Just in Case Somebody's Watching)

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a oneshot. I need you to know that.
> 
> The title of the fic and titles of the chapters come from the song _In League with Dragons_ by The Mountain Goats. I didn't realise until after I'd named everything that it's kind of ironic since succubi and incubi are caprine. Speaking of puns, I've hidden something very silly in the coming chapters and I want to know if anyone catches it. Just remember that if you're in the Geraskier Discord server, and saw me talk about it, that's definitely cheating lmao
> 
> Also Jaskier is only my age, I shrunk the timeline way down because there's only so many ways I can write "and he pined for 20+ years" and still have fun with it tbh

It starts, as most formative events in his adult life tend to, in a small-town tavern. 

To be fair, it makes sense for most of the important things in his life to happen at inns and taverns. After all, it's where he plies his trade; and while, yes, he has performed in courts and palaces, the common folk tend to be his main audience. 

At any rate, it starts in a tavern. Jaskier has been staying here for nearly a week, because they'd been friendly, and the coin had been good, and he and Geralt have parted ways early for the winter. While normally he teaches in Oxenfurt or finds a court to keep warm in, he'd wanted to switch things up this year. He's been wanting to visit the coast, lately; and, while Oxenfurt _is_ coastal, and he _does_ enjoy city life, something about spending a quiet winter in a small town had really called to him. Perhaps it's the lack of responsibility. After all, he is about halfway through his twenties, and men his age need time to relax. 

Whatever the reason, he can't stand the thought of having obligations to anyone but himself for the season, so here he is. It's a nice little town, and he's always had a bit of a soft spot for sea shanties, so thanks to his repertoire the folk here love him that much more. They seem more than happy to have a bit of entertainment for the winter, and Jaskier is sure he'll have no difficulties when it comes to finding a bed, whether he pays through coin, song, or more _physical_ means. 

He's just finished performing his set for the evening, when a woman walks up to him. This is not unusual, in and of itself; after all, he knows he has a certain charm, and he has never had any qualms about using it. Still, there's something about her that just isn't quite _right_. Perhaps it's her gait, the way she walks seeming somehow different in a way he can't place, the lack of shoes peeking out from under her skirts. Perhaps it's her hat, seeming too extravagant for a little port town such as this. Perhaps it's the look in her eye, the way she seems to be sizing him up. 

It could be any number of things, but the fact of the matter is that something about this woman sets him on edge, keeps him just this side of wary. 

"You're very talented," she says. He can't detect any hidden meaning, any malice. It seems to be a genuine compliment and, despite himself, he preens just a little under her praise.

"Thank you, milady," he answers, not bothering to keep his pleasure hidden. 

“I’ve seen a few of your performances now,” she continues. “I must say, I find you… captivating.”

For some reason, that sounds vaguely menacing. He tries to deflect, saying, “As any bard ought to be.”

The woman hums, considering, and then says, “If I may be so bold, my husband would love to meet you. He’s taken an interest as well, you see. Would you be so kind as to come to ours for dinner?” 

There’s something about this that doesn’t add up. It sounds like a proposition (and he’s certainly gotten enough of those to be able to make that judgment, he thinks) but for the fact that she’s mentioned her husband. Usually, people’s spouses _take an interest_ in him _after_ he’s cuckolded them, and not before. They could be genuine fans of his work, but there’s something about this woman that makes everything she says sound suggestive.

He is a twenty-five year old man, hardly the naive little eighteen year old boy who’d been willing to follow any half-interesting person out of a tavern, heedless of the possible repercussions. Jaskier is a grown man, an adult. He knows that he should politely decline. So, of course, he smiles as he gives his answer.

“I’d be delighted.”


	2. Strong Friends Are Where You Find Them

He follows the woman to her home, making friendly conversation all the while. She and her husband live a bit past the outskirts of town, and he has two thoughts about that. The first is that if they want to do him harm, it will be very easy, and he hopes that someone at least saw him leave with her. The second is that it’s a lovely location for a young couple who want their privacy. It’s a quaint little seaside cottage, high up and far away enough that none of the malevolent creatures that dwell in water are likely to bother them, but close enough that if they want to enjoy the beach during the daytime it should be no hardship.

And, as a side-note, when he says _little_ , he doesn’t mean in the sense of a peasant’s shack. He means little in the way that minor nobility might call their summer cottage ‘little’. There are two floors, and it doesn’t look cramped in the slightest. It’s the kind of place he’s dreamed of taking Geralt to, in his weaker moments of fancy when he’d almost been able to convince himself that there could be some chance of the witcher just leaving it all behind and retiring with him one day.

“Maurice, darling, we’re back,” the woman calls as she opens the door to the cottage. As she steps onto the hard floor, and without the noise of the tavern covering it, Jaskier thinks he can hear the clopping of hooves. The sound seems to come from her, but also from—

Well, shit.

The man who walks into the room to greet them is not really a man at all. While Jaskier himself has a good amount of body hair, and would never dream of shaming anyone for such a thing, he is pretty sure there’s a difference between _body hair_ and _fur_.

The man — Maurice, apparently — has what appear to be a goat’s legs, and a pair of horns curl back over his head. When he turns to look at the woman, he sees that she’s removed her hat and most of her clothes, and has a very similar (albeit much more feminine) appearance. 

Fantastic. If he gets killed by monsters, Geralt will never let him live it down.

“Come now, we don’t bite,” the goat-man says pleasantly.

“Well, unless it’s requested,” his wife purrs. They share a little laugh and it’s all strangely… domestic. Comfortable. 

He actually feels sort of rude, now.

“Terribly sorry,” he says with a charming smile, stepping in and shutting the door behind himself. After all, if they wanted to hurt him, they would have by now. They have him alone in the middle of nowhere, where no one can hear him scream, and they’re still as pleasant as ever.

“Come, have a seat,” says the man, clip-clopping over to him. Jaskier forces himself to look him in the eye, rather than stare at the obvious goat parts. There’s no need to continue being rude, now that the shock’s worn off. The humanoid extends a hand, and Jaskier takes it, noting the firm grip with which the other man shakes his hand. “Maurice Innes-LaFontaine, at your service. And this, of course, is my lovely wife Dahlia.”

“A pleasure,” he answers. “Julian Alfred Pankratz, though I am, of course, known more widely as Jaskier the bard.” 

They smile at him, and he smiles back. They really do seem to be a lovely couple. He sits in the chair that they are kind enough to pull out for him, and they sit across from him, and it doesn’t even remotely feel like an interrogation. It’s almost comfortable, except he doesn’t know why the fuck he’s here and he’s still vaguely concerned that he’s done something to wrong them. Why else would they bring him to their home like this?

As the evening progresses, though, he finds that there really does seem to be no ulterior motive. It genuinely seems as though they just want to share his company. Whichever of them is the cook — he’s willing to bet it’s Maurice, as he was the one who’d stayed home — does a fantastic job of it. The meat is cooked just right, the vegetables are soft but not to the point of being mushy, and the seasoning is _perfect_.

When he says as much, Maurice smiles with a twinkle in his eye and wiggles his fingers. “Incubus magic isn’t just good for the bedroom,” he says with a wink. 

He says it so casually, but then, why wouldn’t he? Jaskier has never met an incubus or succubus (that he’s aware of), but he supposes it must be rather similar to being a human, in that it’s simply how one is born. Why wouldn’t it be a casual thing for him the same way Jaskier casually jokes about the limits of his own humanity around people like Geralt and Zoltan? 

They all spend a very pleasant evening together, and Jaskier feels… warm. Content. It’s like, for maybe the first time in his life, he doesn’t mind just staying somewhere, and they don’t seem to mind having him stay. Rather than be anxious to get on the road, or to occupy himself with something, he’s actually a little sad when the evening draws to a close and it comes time for him to take his leave. 

Only, when they say their goodbyes, they don’t just say goodbye. They ask him if he’s staying long, and when he answers that he’s there for the coming winter, they appear delighted, and ask if he’d like to come to dinner again tomorrow night. It makes something ache in his chest, where there still lives that little boy he once was, whose parents only interact with him when they want to express their disappointment. 

Jaskier is a grown man. He doesn’t need to latch on to any older, vaguely parental-seeming couple that shows him a scrap of kindness. He is well past that, thank you very much.


	3. The Human Element Drags You Down

It has been two months now, and Jaskier has fallen into an honest to Gods _routine._ It’s almost worrying how comfortable he is with it all, but it’s also kind of nice? 

Most of his days go something like this: wake up whenever he pleases, compose by the sea or browse the market, play at the tavern, have dinner. Nearly every day he spends time with Maurice and Dahlia, whether for lunch or for dinner, and that’s not including the time he sees them in passing or when they all just exist in the same place together. Because, see, after the first month, they had asked if he’d like to stay in their guest room, and he agreed maybe a little too quickly. It’s just… it’s just nice, he supposes, to feel _wanted_ , especially by a couple that acts so _parental_. 

He’s pretty sure it isn’t healthy for him to view his nice new friends as stand-in parental figures. It’s probably rude as all hell, too, but only if he tells them about it. Of course, he isn’t planning on doing that.

It’s maybe a week into the second month when he finds out that he hadn’t been the only one thinking that way.

“Jaskier, dear?” his m— that is to say, Dahlia calls. He’s on his way out for the afternoon, but he pauses when he hears her.

“Yes?” he calls back, making his way into the sitting room. Both Dahlia and Maurice are there, looking strangely nervous. He is suddenly very worried. “Is everything alright?”

“Of course,” Dahlia says. “We just… if you’re not terribly busy, we’d like to sit and have a word with you.”

Fuck. This is it, then. He should have known that it wouldn’t last — his own damned parents never wanted him as he is, so why would they? He’s been forcing his company on them, hasn’t he? They’ve probably wanted to be rid of him for ages, now, only he’d been too stupid and self-absorbed to notice. 

“Jaskier?” Maurice asks. In that moment, he realises that he’s been standing there in terrified silence, having an existential crisis instead of allowing them to kick him out with some semblance of grace. He sits with a smile that he knows doesn’t reach his eyes, doesn’t look _real_ , though he knows there’s nothing he can do about it. Even his performance skills have their limits, after all.

“Of course, sorry. Lost in thought,” he says. “What was it you wanted to discuss?”

They look at each other in that way close couples sometimes do, like they’re having a conversation without using the words. He tries very hard not to let it bother him.

“You’ve been staying with us for a while now,” Dahlia says, and Jaskier feels his heart start to crack. _Hold it together,_ he thinks to himself. _Just hold it together until it’s over._

“I’m sorry,” he answers. “I shouldn’t have imposed. I can get my things—”

“What?” they both ask, sharp, with an edge of panic to it. They sound the way he feels, hurt and confused and blindsided by it all.

“Dear heart, no,” Dahlia says, gracefully rising to her hooves and crossing over to take his hand in both of hers. “You aren’t imposing, not at all. We would never have invited you to stay if we hadn’t wanted you around.”

“That’s actually what we wanted to talk to you about,” Maurice adds. He stays seated, though he leans closer, like he wants to join his wife but doesn’t want Jaskier to feel crowded. “We don’t want to keep you from leaving if you want to, but we’ve enjoyed having you here.”

“Oh,” he says, sounding faint even to his own ears. He has a hard time wrapping his head around it, if he’s honest. The idea that they want him around, that they haven’t grown sick of him… maybe he’s projecting his issues with his own parents onto this nice couple, but he’d honestly just sort of assumed that this arrangement had an expiration date. He still doesn’t quite believe that it won’t.

Dahlia perches herself on the arm of his chair. It seems like she doesn’t quite want to leave his side, but doesn’t want to awkwardly stand through whatever this conversation is about to be. 

“Do you remember when you first came to our home?” she asks him. 

“Of course,” he answers easily. He remembers that night vividly. 

“You seemed very… guarded,” she continues. “Like you couldn’t figure out why we wanted to spend the evening with you.”

“Ah,” he says, feeling his ears and cheeks heat up just a little. “I’ll admit, I thought there might be some ulterior motive.” People just aren’t that nice without wanting something from him, he silently adds. 

“Well… there sort of was,” Maurice admits sheepishly (and really, calling a man who’s half goat _sheepish_ seems somewhat insulting, if he thinks too hard about it, but it’s the most apt description in this moment). 

Dahlia sighs, as if her husband’s lack of tact physically pains her. Jaskier, thoughts turning to his witcher, is pretty sure he knows the feeling. 

“I don’t understand,” he admits. It seems like they’re having difficulty elucidating the point, so maybe if he nudges them towards it this will go a little quicker. His nerves are a bit too frayed at the moment for this sort of dramatic tension. 

“When you first came to town, we noticed,” Dahlia says carefully, still holding his hand. 

“To be frank, we thought you were one of us,” Maurice adds. 

Dahlia nods. “Your energy, dear, it’s— oh, it’s quite difficult to explain to a human, but therein lies the problem. You don’t _feel_ human.” Jaskier looks down at where their hands touch, and she laughs a little. “Physically, you do. As I said, it’s difficult to explain.”

“I think I can give it a go,” Maurice says. Dahlia nods, so he continues. “Succubi and incubi consume sexual energy, but we are attuned to all types of energy. It’s a sense in and of itself, like taste or sight; a sense humans don’t have, which is why we have difficulty describing it. When you hear a lute, you can tell it’s not a drum. This is a very similar thing. Using that sense alone, when you came to town, we had thought another incubus had wandered into our territory, so to speak. And when there are too many of us in one place…” 

“Yes, it would make sense to not want to draw attention.” Now he understands what they mean, but he doesn’t understand why it’s relevant. 

“It’s difficult enough with the two of us living together,” Dahlia sighs. “A relationship like ours, amongst our kind, is not exactly the norm. Our kind tends to be something of a paradox, in that we constantly seek out companionship, but shy away from commitment. And of those who do settle down with one partner, it’s almost never another of our kind.”

“We aren’t what one would call _normal_ for a succubus and incubus, but we love each other,” Maurice adds. “We’re, well, that’s not the only way we differ from our kin. Being together, having a permanent residence… We have a sort of understanding with the town. They know what we are, and what we do, and what we need. So long as we don’t, you know, take lovers who are married, or deflower any virgin sons and daughters, they don’t mind us staying, and even send travelers our way from time to time. We’ve been here for, what, two generations, now?”

“I think it’s three, dear,” Dahlia answers absently.

“You don’t look nearly as old as that,” Jaskier says before he can stop himself. Thankfully, they don’t seem offended. Instead, they laugh.

“Well, no, but we don’t age the way humans do,” Dahlia says. 

“I see,” says Jaskier. Then, he adds, “But, why tell me this?” Because, surely, there is a point beyond confessing, a point related to this ‘ulterior motive’ they haven’t yet disclosed. Maybe they get the hint, realise that’s what he’s trying to steer the conversation towards, because they are immediately serious again.

“We’ve never been a very good example of our kind,” says Dahlia. “The both of us have always wanted to marry, settle down, have neighbours and a family. Until we’d met, we had separately assumed that it was a silly dream, that the life we wanted wasn’t _for_ things like us.”

And, oh, that stings. It hits a little too close to home, reminds Jaskier of a certain witcher who tries to suppress his every desire simply because he doesn’t think he’s _allowed_ to want things, to be _happy_. “You’re _people_ , not things. _What_ you are has no bearing on whether you deserve happiness,” he says. “It’s _who_ you are that counts.”

They smile at him, so softly that he aches. “If only we knew that when we were your age,” Dahlia tells him. 

“I’ll be honest,” says Maurice, “when you came to town we were worried. We thought you were another incubus, and it wasn’t unlikely that you would disrupt the peace we’ve tried so hard to build. So, Dahlia went out to find you — women’s clothes make it easy to hide what we are, and I don’t think I’d look too good in a dress.”

“But you said the townsfolk know what you are?”

“Yes,” answers Maurice, “but we try to keep out of sight as much as we can anyway. The less attention, the better — especially if we want to try to escape the notice of another of our kind.”

“But you said you could feel my… energy?” he asks. “If I were an incubus, wouldn’t I be able to feel you in the same way?”

Dahlia smiles at him warmly, like she’s proud of him. “A quick study,” she says, and he feels his face heat up again under the praise. “We thought that if you’d noticed us, you wouldn’t have come into our territory in the first place. Usually, our kind stays away from each other, so it seemed strange that you were here. We thought you might be too young, or perhaps weakened somehow, to notice us.”

That makes sense, he supposes. It’s not as though he’s an expert on this sort of thing, but they’re doing a good job of helping him understand. “So you wanted to make sure I wasn’t a threat?” he asks, despite already knowing the answer.

“Yes, at first,” says Dahlia. “As soon as I saw you, found out that you were human, I raced home to tell Maurice. He almost didn’t believe me!”

“It took a good amount of convincing,” the incubus agrees.

“I watched a few of your performances — every night, actually, until we decided to invite you into our home. It was lovely.”

“I was jealous,” Maurice adds. 

“I can play for you any time,” Jaskier offers. The incubus smiles at him warmly, in a way that feels downright fatherly. 

“And I appreciate every time you do,” he says, “but at the time, that wasn’t the case.”

“Jaskier, dear, do you remember earlier, when we said that we’re not like the rest of our kind?” Dahlia interjects. He nods, brow furrowing just a little in confusion. He isn’t quite sure where she’s going with this, after all. “We’ve always wanted a family. It’s just that… it’s difficult for us. There are two ways that our kind can come to be. One is, frankly, unattainable for Maurice and I. 

“The other… It’s rare, nearly unheard of. Simply put, without going into the _how_ of it… we can make a human into one of us.”

“What, anyone? Just like that?” Jaskier can’t help but think if that were true, there would be more succubi and incubi in the world than there are. 

Dahlia, however, shakes her head. “No, in fact, it’s quite the opposite. You see, certain conditions need to be met. The human has to be willing, of course, but also… well, they have to be enough like us already, so that they can withstand the change.”

“It’s a lot like adoption,” Maurice adds, “but with magic. Or, rather, if adoption ended with a rebirth. If we were to change a human into one of us, we would become that person’s parents, and they would become our child.”

It all starts to fall into place. 

“You want to… adopt me?”

Yes, it turns out that they do. They want to adopt him, make him an incubus, make him their _son_. He has to admit that this is a lot to take in. Honestly, he’s a little worried that if he says no, or if he takes too long to decide, they won’t have the patience for him anymore. Why would they want to deal with him if they can’t get what they want? 

Only, Dahlia says, “Take all the time you need, love. We understand that it’s a big request. And don’t even think about feeling obligated to say yes if it’s not something you want.”

“But won’t you be… upset?” he asks, words coming out before he can give any thought to them.

She smiles gently and says, “Of course we will. Not with _you_ , though. We’ll be a little disappointed, but it’s your decision, and we’d never want to force you to do something you aren’t comfortable with, no matter how much we want it.”

And honestly, he appreciates that answer. He appreciates her being candid. If she lied and said they wouldn’t be upset… well, he simply wouldn’t trust it. The fact that they’re willing to be honest and upfront about it makes him think that he can really trust them, that they really care. And the thought that even if they were disappointed with his choice, they wouldn’t blame him, wouldn’t hold it against him? That sort of respect is something he’s never gotten from a parent. 

“If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask,” Maurice tells him. “It’s important to have all the information you need before making a big decision like this.” 

Gods, does he have questions. He has so many questions his head could burst, but he doesn’t know which ones to ask, or in which order. There’s so much going on right now, in his head, that he doesn’t really know what to do. He needs time to process things, and then he can start to figure it out.


	4. Reckon Up the Variables

Jaskier spends the next few days getting his thoughts in order. They never press him for an answer, they never treat him any differently, they never get impatient with him. When he finally calms his mind enough to be able to analyse things properly, he decides the best way to go about this is to make a list of any questions he might have as he thinks of them. He spends the next few days with a journal and a quill on his person at all times, so that he never has to worry about forgetting a question. Over the next two weeks or so, he starts asking them. No matter what he asks, or how embarrassing he thinks it is, they are always forthcoming and pleasant with their answers.

Would he have horns and goat legs? Yes and no. When a human becomes an incubus or succubus, their body changes to become what they will be, but it also remembers what they once were. He will be able to change between a human form and an incubus form, though it will take time and practise, and he won’t be able to do it right away.

Will it hurt? They aren’t sure. It might, but the pain would be temporary, and he won’t be conscious through the transformation anyway, so even if there is pain they aren’t sure if he’ll really be able to feel it. He will need time to recover, to get used to his new body and the various changes. He also won’t be able to feed on his own, at first, because he won’t know how to control himself. Until he can feed himself, he’ll be tethered to them, much like a magic umbilical cord. 

How long will it be until he can go out and travel again? It’s hard to say. They’ve never done this before. Their kind comes of age very quickly, and they have no doubts that he’ll be a strong incubus as well as a quick learner. They would guess that it shouldn’t be more than a few months, though it could be shorter or longer.

Is he going to have to have sex more than he already does? No, not unless he wants to, but he should be able to keep himself fed just fine. 

Will he have to learn to use magic? Their kind has an innate ability to control fire. He will need to learn to control it, but it won’t be too difficult. He’ll never get burnt again, and he’ll be able to withstand the cold more easily, so that’s certainly a plus. 

What about silver; can he still touch it, or will it hurt him? From what they understand, a human turned incubus is less sensitive to silver than a born incubus. In his human form, he should be able to withstand it, and in his incubus form he might even be able to touch it briefly. Still, it’s best to avoid it if he can; better safe than sorry, after all.

Won’t it be burdensome for them to have him here, unable to contribute, taking their time and resources? Gods, no. If they couldn’t afford to be parents, to take care of someone, then they wouldn’t have asked him. He won’t be a burden to them.

Will he have some kind of obligation to stay here, or will he be free to travel? They know how his parents were, and frankly, _those_ people don’t deserve the title, and certainly didn’t deserve him as a son. Dahlia and Maurice wouldn’t dream of trying to keep him here. Aside from the fact that it would be a little much for the town to have _three_ of their kind living here permanently, they would never try to hold him back or make him do something he wouldn’t feel comfortable doing. That said, even if he doesn’t choose to go through with it, they’d love if he’d come and visit any time he’s in the area, and they would love to receive letters from him as well, because they do care about him and want to keep in touch. 

Should he start calling them ‘mum’ and ‘dad’, or continue calling them by their names? They don’t mind either way. It’s whatever he’s comfortable with, really, and he shouldn’t worry himself over it. 

Eventually he’s gotten to the point where he’s asked all he can think to ask. He puts more thought into this than he’s put into any decision he’s ever made, probably, but can anyone blame him? It is an enormous, life-changing, irreversible decision. 

At this point, the only thing holding him back from agreeing to it is, well, Geralt. Not that the witcher is there to tell him what decision to make, and not that he would _listen_ if someone tried to tell him what to do — he’s pretty sure at least half of his poorest decisions come from doing things he knew he oughtn’t just out of petty spite — but it’s the thought of him that gives Jaskier pause. He and Geralt have been sort of… it’s complicated. 

Jaskier finally, just before they’d parted in the autumn, told Geralt how he feels. They’d both been a bit drunk and honestly, he doesn’t know how it even happened, but the next morning they had a long talk about it. Which, by the way, is more than Jaskier ever would have expected, because Geralt generally doesn’t do long talks, or feelings, so long talks _about_ feelings? And with Jaskier, no less? He’ll admit he’d pinched himself several times just to be sure it was actually happening.

It turns out that the witcher has felt the same about him for, well, a while. He’d just had certain… hangups. Namely, Jaskier’s mortality. Jaskier _thinks_ he was able to convince him, ultimately, that it’s better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all; that yes, he will grow old and die far too quickly, from Geralt’s perspective, but that’s just more incentive to make the most of it together. He wants to grow old with his witcher by his side and give him as much love as his brittle, ephemeral human frame can offer in his short time here. 

Still, while Geralt can be an impulsive man (something he had learned _very_ well in Cintra), he can also be _extremely_ cautious. He’d needed time to think about it all, and Jaskier was willing to give him that space, which is part of why they’d parted so early. 

The thing is, this would absolutely solve the mortality issue. Incubi don’t really age, so Jaskier would be able to keep up with the witcher for as long as he’d have him. There are just a few problems. 

The first thing that pops into his head is that Geralt might not want him. He might decide that Jaskier simply isn’t worth the effort — he’d be far from the first. If Geralt decides that he doesn’t want Jaskier because of who he is as a person, it won’t feel great, but it won’t be the worst thing ever, because he honestly has come to expect that sort of thing. If he decides that Jaskier’s longevity (or lack thereof) is the reason they can’t be together, though, then he’s pretty sure the witcher will just convince himself that he doesn’t want Jaskier at all — the man can be very _sour grapes_ at times — and seeing a Jaskier that no longer ages could just upset him.

There’s also the teensy, tiny, itty-bitty, little issue of Geralt being a witcher, who is trained to fight monsters. He constantly insists (and proves through his actions) that he doesn’t have anything against the reasonable ones, the thinking kind like Maurice and Dahlia who don’t hurt humans and just want to be left alone. Geralt’s taken the side of trolls over humans, missing out on payment for a contract, just because he felt it was the right thing to do. Trolls! So Jaskier is pretty sure that Geralt won’t actually have a problem with him becoming a monster, except… well, what if he does? After all, most monsters are simply born as the thing that they are. There are those like werewolves and wights, who are cursed, but even then it’s not a choice. Jaskier would be choosing to give up his humanity. Would that rankle? 

Also, he knows that witcher stamina is a thing, but what if Geralt can’t, or won’t, provide enough for him on his own? What if the witcher wants to be monogamous but the bard simply has no choice but to sleep with others? 

When he stops to think about it, he knows he’s being silly. At the end of the day, this is a decision he needs to make for himself. He is in love with Geralt, yes, but there is more to him and to his life than that one thing. There’s more to gain than there is to lose — honestly, he’s always wanted a real family, parents who actually care about him, who are proud to call him their son. Maurice and Dahlia are offering him that, and in the end, it’s simply too good to pass up.


	5. Even if It Ends Up Being Nothing

When Geralt descends the Blue Mountains after the snows have melted, he makes a stop at the first town (or the last, depending on which way one is traveling) on the path from Kaer Morhen. The people there are generally friendly, because they’re used to seeing witchers, and learned that a witcher’s coin is just as good as anyone else’s generations ago. He always stops on his way to and from Kaer Morhen because when traversing that particular path, Roach deserves a rest, and a bed isn’t unwelcome. 

He’d had the whole damned winter, and half of the autumn, to think about where he and Jaskier stand — and where they _could_ stand. It honestly hadn’t taken him that long to decide that Jaskier was right, for once. He’d rather have happy memories with the bard than always look back on their time together filled with regrets and what-ifs. It’s just that he’d spent so long telling himself that it wasn’t meant to be, that Jaskier couldn’t feel that way about him, that he wouldn’t be more than a notch on the bard’s belt, if he would even be anything. He needed the time to get used to the idea on his own so that he didn’t fuck things up with his own doubts and insecurities before it even truly began. 

Vesemir had caught on to Geralt’s little dilemma. Geralt and his brothers have always joked that old Vesemir has a lecture and a story for anything, but it still threw him for a loop when his mentor actually had something for this experience too. 

The oldest witcher had, in his younger days, had a whirlwind affair with a young noblewoman. She’d been the one to reach out to him, and they spent several nights together; Vesemir adored her. One night, though, her father had caught them in bed together, and he’d left his gambeson behind in his haste to flee. He still thinks about what could have been, if he’d only asked her to come along with him. If she’s still alive she’s got to be an old woman, and has probably married someone else by now, but there isn’t much he wouldn’t give to be able to see her again. 

If Geralt hadn’t already made his decision, the fact that he’d basically gotten Vesemir’s blessing might have been enough to convince him on its own. The man who’d taught him not to form attachments encouraging him to romance a human? He never thought he’d see the day. 

He and Jaskier had agreed, when they parted, to meet in a coastal town that Jaskier had decided to spend the winter in. He’d said something along the lines of, “Just because you’re allergic to relaxation, dearest witcher, doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t need a little time to ourselves every now and again.” (Geralt hadn’t asked, by the way, nor had he given any indication that he disapproved of the bard’s choice. Jaskier just loves to prod him about silly things like self-care and leisure whenever he gets the chance.)

“Letter for you, Master Witcher,” is the first thing the innkeep says when he steps up to the counter. That’s odd, because there’s really only one person who would bother _or_ know where to send him a letter, and they’ve already agreed upon a time and place to meet.

He mumbles his thanks and takes the letter, but he’s honestly not sure if he wants to read it. Has Jaskier changed his mind? It seemed like he was fine with Geralt taking time to figure things out, but the witcher knows how mercurial his bard can be. Maybe Jaskier has gotten bored of him. He’s been waiting for that to happen, but it seems almost cruel for it to have happened now, after giving him a false hope like this.

With a heavy, resigned sigh, he opens the letter with his boot knife. It’s best to get it over with, he reasons. Only, when he actually reads the thing, it’s not at all what he was expecting.

_My dearest Geralt,_

_I hope the winter has treated you well. Unfortunately, something has come up, and I will be unable to travel for some time. I had been hoping that this would not be the case but, alas, such is the nature of life, that it rarely takes our wants and plans into consideration._

_Make no mistake, I will be more than happy to join you once again when I am no longer indisposed. It should only be a few months at most, and I urge you to write to me in that time if you are amenable. After all, laid up as I am, I’ve more time to write than ever, and fewer things to write about. I will be in the same town in which we previously agreed to meet, and will gladly share the reasons behind my delay when I next find myself in your company._

_I miss you dearly, and can hardly wait until we meet again. Whatever decision you’ve come to in regards to our last conversation, I am glad to be your barker for as long as you’ll have me._

_Your favourite bard,  
Jaskier_

This makes Geralt feel a lot of things at once. The thing about witchers — about Geralt in particular — is that they _do_ feel, but are trained not to show or acknowledge it. Being too emotional in the wrong situation can get them killed, and their entire purpose is to kill monsters, so often they are taught that their feelings are unimportant. The problem with that is that they don’t know how to process emotions well, and since anger is the easiest emotion to understand and deal with, they tend to default to that. No one is a better example of this than Lambert, though Geralt was a close second for a long time. And while his time with Jaskier has done wonders for his emotional intelligence, he’s still not very good at it all. 

So the problem is that he’s feeling a lot of things, and he’s having a bit of trouble parsing them.

The first thing that he feels is relief. Jaskier hasn’t gotten bored of him, or given up on him, or decided he wasn’t worth the trouble. Immediately after is a sense of shame for thinking that he would in the first place. After all, Jaskier has consistently been there for him even when Geralt _tried_ to push him away. He’s always been patient, except when Geralt deserves a swift kick in the pants (metaphorically speaking), and then he is more than happy to provide. Jaskier’s never been afraid of him and certainly never been afraid to tell the witcher exactly what he thinks at any given moment. He doesn’t back down when Geralt growls or snaps at him, doesn’t shrink away when his face is deathly white and covered in inky-black veins extending from black eyes, doesn’t hesitate to throw himself into any situation if he thinks that Geralt needs him. Jaskier can be irritating and flighty and _too much_ a lot of the time, but he’s also headstrong, reliable, and steadfast. If he was going to get sick of Geralt he would have done so long ago and certainly wouldn’t have confessed his love first.

When those feelings are out of the way, he’ll admit he’s sort of annoyed. They had agreed to meet, after all. He doesn’t understand why Jaskier would be stuck in that town — what business could he possibly have there? He hadn’t given any reason, but had promised to do so in person. 

That, then, leads to a vague sense of alarm, and perhaps a bit of dread. The lack of information seems suspiciously deliberate. Is Jaskier in trouble? He’d said that he was _indisposed_ and _laid up_. Is he sick or injured? Has he been arrested for something? Surely if he were imprisoned they wouldn’t allow him to write to Geralt, and even if they did he would have surely begged for help in some coded way. How old is this letter? 

Well, he doesn’t technically have anywhere to be, and he knows where Jaskier is. It should be a simple thing to check up on him, to pop in and make sure he’s okay. It’s not like Jaskier will mind. 

Honestly, what could go wrong?


	6. Be So Hard to Look Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE: I posted the last chapter twice. This is the REAL final chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was pointed out to me that I fucked up the chapters. This is the real last chapter. Sequel will happen at some point. Sorry for the inconvenience  
> Second edit: fixed the broken italics too. Wow, I'm really fucking up here lmao

It doesn’t take very long to get to that little seaside town. Maybe a week and a half? Okay, so maybe Geralt hadn’t stopped much, maybe he’d ridden a little harder than normal, but so what? He just wants to get this over with so he can get to work, that’s all. 

The first place he goes when he comes to town is the inn, because it’s the most logical. Where else would Jaskier be staying? He might have wooed his way into someone else’s bed, but Geralt can’t honestly see him staying with one person for so long (well, he _can_ , but he’s that person, and he hasn’t been here). And anyway, Jaskier is a _bard_. The inn and tavern are one building, and Jaskier would have to go there to do his job.

“Looking for Jaskier,” he grunts at the innkeeper. 

“You’re looking in the wrong place,” the man replies. 

A little frustrated, Geralt says, “Then where should I be looking?” 

The innkeeper looks vaguely menaced, and Geralt honestly doesn’t feel bad about it. “House just outside of town, to the west. Been staying with _them folk_ for a while, now. Ain’t seen much of him lately.”

Okay, the way he says _them folk_ rubs Geralt entirely the wrong way, but he isn’t going to try to get any more information out of this man. If Jaskier is in trouble, standing around arguing with a reticent innkeeper isn’t going to help him. No, Geralt is going to have to go to that house on his own.

It’s just close enough that anyone living there could easily go into town if they wished, but just far enough that Jaskier could be in serious danger if he’s in there with the wrong people. Geralt takes a deep, calming breath and forces himself not to overthink. If he kicks his way into this place with his sword drawn and there’s just a regular family in there, he will never hear the end of it, no matter what his intentions are.

Still, when he knocks on the door it is a little too forceful. He hears movement in the house, so someone is definitely home. Realising that he might not get the best reception if they open the door to a witcher without knowing why he’s there, he calls out, “I’m looking for Jaskier.”

There’s something strange about this place, though he can’t quite put his finger on it. It smells like a brothel, without the perfume, and with the added scent of raw heat. He hears a hard, almost clopping sort of sound coming closer to the door. His medallion begins to hum against his chest faintly, getting stronger as the noise comes closer. It’s gradual enough that he doesn’t notice it at first, and it’s not until the door opens that he does. 

At the same time, of course, he sees the person behind the door, and it’s not a person at all.

For just a moment, the kind that stretches out into eternity, he stares at the succubus who’d just answered the door. The succubus stares back. Neither moves or says anything. Then, the moment snaps, and she slams the door in his face.

His witcher senses make it very easy to hear what’s going on inside, only slightly muffled by the door.

 _“Maurice!”_ a feminine voice calls out, sounding hushed and frantic. 

A male voice, which Geralt assumes belongs to this Maurice, approaches. _“Dahlia, what’s wrong? Who is it?”_

 _“Maurice, there is a fucking witcher at our door!”_ the woman’s voice (Dahlia, apparently) answers. Her heart is racing. 

_“What?”_ the male voice asks sharply. _“Why would— we haven’t done anything!”_

 _“I don’t know!”_ the terrified succubus snaps. _“He was asking for Jaskier, did you hear him?”_

_“Well _he_ certainly couldn’t have done anything!”_

Okay, they definitely know Jaskier, then. And it would be absolutely on-brand for his bard to be kidnapped by a succubus. Still, he is doing his best not to jump to conclusions, even if that is the most obvious and plausible one. So instead, he calls through the door, “I can still hear you.”

It’s silent. The silence seems to stretch. Then, Maurice says, _“I’ll handle this, darling. Maybe you should go check on him.”_

The door opens a crack, and this time there is an incubus behind it. “Go away,” he says, and then tries to slam the door again. This time, Geralt is expecting something like that, and quickly puts his foot in the door to keep it from closing. 

“Not until I talk to Jaskier,” he says. 

The incubus smells of fear, but that doesn’t do anything to mute the force of his glare. “He hasn’t done anything wrong,” the incubus says.

“That’s a first,” Geralt mutters, mostly to himself.

This causes the incubus to falter, just a little. “What do you want with our son?” he demands. 

Geralt squints. “Your what?”

Maurice (at least, Geralt assumes that the incubus is Maurice) puffs out his chest, perhaps trying to be intimidating. It doesn’t really work, but it’s a good effort. “Our _son_.”

“Jaskier’s… human,” says the witcher, feeling like he’s missing something very important. It’s a kind of confusion that he’s more than used to where Jaskier is involved.

The incubus looks away for a moment, seeming nervous in a different way than before. Geralt’s confusion only grows. Then, he says, “Just answer the question, witcher. What business do you have with him?”

Ignoring all of the obvious questions for now, because asking them will clearly get him nowhere, Geralt says, “Got his letter. Wanted to make sure he was okay.” It’s sort of embarrassing to admit, but there are more important things to consider right now.

At the very least, it makes the incubus pause and look at Geralt with a little less animosity, though with no less suspicion. “What letter?”

“We were supposed to meet up, but something happened, and he didn’t say what,” Geralt answers. 

They stare at one another for another infinite-seeming moment before the incubus opens the door. “You’d better not try anything,” he warns, though he doesn’t actually seem like he wants to fight the witcher. 

As Geralt steps inside, he hears a soft _thump_ coming from somewhere deeper in the house. It’s followed by an evenly-spaced series of thumps that sound like they’re slowly descending. He looks towards the stairs, and is met with perhaps the absolute last thing he’d ever expect to see.

There’s Jaskier, alright. Well, sort of. Jaskier now has goat legs and horns. His scent has subtly changed, but it’s still very obviously him. 

The sudden difference in appearance is, somehow, not the strangest part of all of this. It turns out that the thumping noises were from Jaskier. Specifically, from his ass. Geralt watches with a sense of bewildered amusement as his bard scoots down the stairs, one at a time, on his newly caprine bottom. 

Of course, the second the bard sees him, he crosses his arms and glowers. “Don’t you look at me in that tone of voice,” he snaps defensively. “I’d like to see you try to walk with _brand new legs_.”

And honestly, what the fuck does one say to that? Geralt is used to not knowing how to respond to something Jaskier has said, so he uses one of the most powerful tools he has as a witcher: sarcasm.

“Pretty sure I’m not going to have that problem,” he says, crossing his own arms. “And on that note, how is it that you keep doing this?”

The way Jaskier’s face scrunches up in a sort of confused indignation is, Geralt will privately admit, kind of cute. “Unless my memory is failing me at the ripe, old age of _twenty-five_ , I’m pretty sure I’ve never gotten new legs before.”

“No,” Geralt agrees, “but you do consistently get yourself into more strange, outlandish situations than anyone I have ever met.” 

The bard that is, somehow, an incubus now just shrugs. “Sounds like you just haven’t been meeting the right people.”

Geralt heaves a world-weary sigh, and turns to the incubus who is still eyeing him warily, like the witcher is a snake that may or may not be venomous. “I think my bard is defective,” he deadpans. “Do you know who I can get in contact with for a replacement?”

Jaskier _hmphs_ , even as Maurice cracks a small smile despite himself. “Unfortunately for you, there’s a one-bard-per-witcher policy. No returns. You’ll simply have to make do.” 

The succubus who had first opened the door has been standing behind Jaskier for this entire exchange, and when the bard scoots down the rest of the stairs, she helps him to his fee— er, to his hooves. Jaskier takes a few slow, unsteady steps towards Geralt, and she hovers next to him, apparently ready to catch him if he falls. It strikes him as something very protective, even _motherly_. 

When Jaskier is standing in front of Geralt — and they’re still of a height, even with the new legs — the witcher reaches out and grabs Jaskier’s wrist. Dahlia cries out in alarm, somehow still worried that Geralt is going to hurt him. 

“It’s okay, Mum,” Jaskier says with an easy smile. 

“Just keeping him steady,” Geralt adds. “He’s clumsy enough when he’s used to his legs.”

“Fuck off,” says the bard.

The witcher smirks and says, “Really, bard, in front of your mother?”

He still doesn’t fully understand what’s going on, doesn’t really know what happened or how, but he’s sure he’ll find out. What’s important is that Jaskier is okay. The rest, he can find out later.


End file.
